Angel With A Broken Wing
by Debwood-1999
Summary: If you stripped this story down to its bare bones, Dean Ambrose was kidnapped and chained up in a cold, dark garage in the Louisiana backwoods because Seth Rollins had chosen to sleaze his way up the FCW/WWE ranks, and because Dean had paused for a moment to find a cigarette on the way to his car. Wybrose, Part of the Angel In The Dirt Universe
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Thought I'd try my hand at a Wybrose fic. Bray and Dean have this odd, twisted chemistry that works really, really well! And speaking of Bray,** _ **Angel In The Dirt, Book Three**_ **will be updated within the next week. This story just has me by the throat at the moment!**

 **DISCLAIMERS: This story is part of my** _ **Angel**_ **series, so it's definitely AU. The Wyatts in my universe live outside a small town in Louisiana named Crowley. The series was inspired by and based on the Wyatt/Jay series by theytalktome, and the concepts are used with permission from the author. Dean's spiel about his life on the streets was gleaned from numerous Jon Moxley promos. Cover art is a pencil sketch by lonessiea, and you can find her work on Tumblr. Characters are not mine, except for Anna and the Pollards.**

 **In case you're confused about who Anna is, she's my OC, and her profile is on my profile page. It gets tweaked depending on which stories she appears in, and in this series, she's Abigail's younger sister. You may also want to read the previous stories in my** _ **Angel**_ **series to bring yourself up to speed with the characters and situations mentioned here. This story will also have some spoiler-ish content for my newest series,** _ **An Army Of Angels,**_ **which should debut in October.**

 **Also, a huge THANKS to HarlemMarxx for her story** _ **Dismantle, Repair.**_ **It was the concept and idea upon which this story was based, and some turns of phrase are from the story.** _ **Dismantle, Repair**_ **is an AWESOME story that's worth a read if you're into Wybrose like I am! Thanks again, and I hope I do your ideas and concepts justice.**

 _ **Angel With a Broken Wing  
By Debwood-1999**_

 _ **Chapter One**_

It was a beautiful late fall morning. The scenery was resplendent in one last costume change before the end of the year, with the sunrise casting golden lights and shadows across the trees and hills and bushes in the Louisiana backwoods. In the distance, trees rustled as a flock of birds took flight. The morning was crisp, just cool enough to see one's breath, but not so cold that it made one shiver.

On the porch of a big, weathered house in the middle of this wild countryside, Dean Ambrose sat in a patio chair, puffing away on a vape pen. A soft-side suitcase, fully packed, lay at his feet. An empty coffee cup sat on a small table in front of him.

Inside, the house was bustling with activity. Dean could hear heavy footsteps, breakfast sounds (plates and silverware and pots and pans clinking and clattering), water running, a television tuned into the news. The faint scent of toast and bacon and coffee tickled Dean's nose, mingling pleasantly with the fragrance of the vapor that escaped the pen.

Dean chuckled to himself. Months ago, you had to drag him out of bed in the mornings, and he was the one who kept everyone waiting after ️they'd packed their bags. This morning, _he'd_ been the first one out of bed, with his luggage already packed. Hopefully, he, Bray, and their traveling companions-Jay and Luke-could get to the airport three hours before their flight like they'd all planned.

He took a pull off his vape pen and let his mind drift back. Dean's arrival here had been far from pleasant. Now, he wasn't sure he wanted to leave...

~~~ANGEL~~~

If you stripped this story down to its bare bones, Dean Ambrose was kidnapped and chained up in a cold, dark garage in the Louisiana backwoods because Seth Rollins had chosen to sleaze his way up the FCW/WWE ranks, and because Dean had paused for a moment to find a cigarette on the way to his car.

In spite of all the pretty words he'd said, Seth never really loved Dean.

All Dean was to Seth during his stint in FCW was a means to an end. Somewhere along the line, however, Seth developed feelings (it was impossible to tell if they were guilt or love, or both) towards Dean, but at the same time, he started seeing Roman Reigns on the sly. Dean was furious and heartbroken after learning of Seth's indiscretion and selfishness.

Anyone with a healthy self-esteem would have given Seth the heave-ho and found someone better. But Dean's self-esteem was non-existent, and instead of tearing Seth a new one and kicking him to the curb like he should have, he blamed himself for Seth's affair. Obviously, there was something wrong with Dean (at least Dean thought so), so why else would Seth chose to stray? That made it easy for Seth to convince Dean to work things out, going so far as to create the Shield as a means for them all to work together and try to fix their complicated relationship along the way.

An uneasy peace existed between the three of them, which didn't go unnoticed. The tension between Dean, Seth and Roman could be sensed by Bray, both in WWE and in FCW. Since he wasn't personally involved at that time, he could see the situation for what it really was-a relationship based on lies. It was a fact that he could easily exploit, and it gave Bray the eventual way in. He wanted Dean in his family, so that he could take the broken parts of him and make him whole.

Bray saw a lot of himself in Dean. Dean wasn't a saint by any stretch, but then again, neither was Bray. He was a monster just like Bray.

When Seth betrayed his Shield brothers to join the Authority, it solidified the truth in Bray's mind. Seth had only used Dean-and now Roman-to better himself. The words _Rat, Weasel, Traitor,_ and _Backstabber_ fit him perfectly.

Following the breakup, Dean became a lone wolf, while Roman got it in his head that it was him against the world. And when Roman left for emergency surgery, it was a good enough reason for him to escape the dysfunction and leave Dean and Seth in the dust.

Without anyone watching him, the Lunatic Fringe, the crazy force of nature that was Dean Ambrose, began spiraling. His fixation on Seth-getting revenge on the little rat-had consumed him. It wouldn't take much effort on Bray's part to make Dean descend below everything.

Dean was a little lost sheep when Bray found him, with nowhere to go, no one to follow, and nobody to show him the way. He was provoking wolves, directionless but unwilling to quit. He had a head full of rage, and no outlet for it. He was just the kind of man Bray was looking for.

And all Bray had to do was capture him. All it took was a moment when the Lunatic Fringe reached for a cigarette to smoke on his drive back to his hotel room.

Hell In A Cell was the perfect time for Bray to make his move. He waited until Dean had emerged from the arena, dressed in his street clothes, and his hair still wet from his shower. He sneaked up behind Dean while he was fumbling through his pockets and grabbed him before the lunatic could so much as blink. A cloth soaked with starter fluid was pressed against Dean's mouth and nose, and Dean was out in seconds.

The drive back to Crowley from Dallas took six hours. Dean was stuffed in the trunk of Bray's car, with a pillowcase over his head, and his hands and feet cuffed behind him.

~~~ANGEL~~~

Bray had been forced to chain Dean to the floor of the garage after it was determined that he was a danger to others on the compound (he'd thrown an empty plate at Anna and lunged at her; only Erick pulling Abigail's sister out of harm's way had prevented physical injury). His objective had been to break through Dean's defenses and expose the parts that had been broken and hurt by his life on the streets. Those parts were the parts that Bray wanted to fix.

So, like he'd broken Jay down eighteen months earlier, Bray attempted to break Dean. He returned to his unique brand of tough love. He figured that he could get away with it once more. Dean was taking time off after Hell In a Cell to deal with nagging injuries anyway, so he wouldn't be missed for a while. The Pollards, the family who watched his compound while he and the boys were on the road, were in Mississippi, attending an Evangelical All-Stars Prayer-a-thon and Miracle Revival Picnic. Luke and Jay were on the road with the WWE. Erick was recovering from minor surgery and was able to assist, and he knew to keep quiet. Anna, with her part-time job, would be occupied with that, as well as watching the Pollard's place while they were gone. And, if push came to shove, Bray knew she'd have his back.

She _was_ Abigail's sister, after all.

Besides, after seeing the cuts and marks on Dean's body, Bray decided that his tactics were warranted:

~~~ANGEL~~~

"So you don't need any help, you're handling your business?"

Dean fixed Bray with an icy gaze. His voice was like chips of ice. "I've handled my business pretty well all my life, I don't need you freaks."

"The marks on your body say otherwise," said Bray, point-blank.

"They're nothing," Dean scoffed.

Bray sank to his knees in front of his chained-up captive. "Nothing? Highly doubtful. Scars from fights and hardcore death matches I can understand, but these cuts on you?" He lifted up one of Dean's arms; chained up as he was, Dean could offer little resistance. The well-muscled arm was covered with scars, both new and old. "They look _way_ too symmetrical and straight to be something out of a fight." Bray's eyes widened in curiosity. "And are these _burn scars?!_ What is this? When the going gets tough, the tough self-harm?"

"I can't take all the pressure. Gotta find some way to cope with this," Dean shrugged.

" _Not like this!_ There's other ways to deal with your trauma, and many of them don't involve sharp objects-"

" _You have no idea about the hell I had to go through growing up!"_ Dean snarled. "You didn't get stabbed in the lung with a screwdriver while trying to get home from school. You weren't the one who crawled out of his bedroom at twelve years old one morning to find that the TV, the furniture in the apartment, and all the money that his mother (he put _mother_ in air quotes) made from whoring around had been stolen the night before. You didn't get expelled from school for shoving the stick from a candy apple down a classmate's throat. He poked fun at my Halloween costume, what was I supposed to do? Why was I the one who got treated like street trash? Why am _I_ the one who always gets in trouble?

"They called me _dangerous._ _Dangerous? Me?"_ Dean snorted. He began to gesture wildly with his hands, the chains dangling from them swinging and clinking in accompaniment. _"Ha!_ Nobody wants me around because they think I'm gonna cause problems. Nobody wants Dean Ambrose around because he's gonna do a whole bunch of stuff that's gonna be bad for everyone.

"Did you ever have to run a gauntlet after school, Bray? I did. There was a big scary dude named Lavon that I had to run really fast around to make sure he didn't see me. 'Cause if he did, he'd give me dope and make me sell it, and then he'd beat me up and take the money. I couldn't have anything valuable because if I did, the crazy crackhead hobo named Jack would beat me up and take it. And I had to look away from the street corner where my mom worked, because if I saw how food got put on our table, it would make me wanna jump in the river and drown.

"If that's not bad enough, did your daddy decide to put you on the street for extra cash? Because my mom did. Thirteen years old, Bray, and she made me peddle my ass on a street corner, the same one she worked, for money. If I didn't come home with enough, she'd take what I'd earned and beat me."

Dean's voice dropped to a snarl. "She wasn't a mother. She was a bad breeder. A junkie. She was a pimp… and I was nothing but a whore."

Dean's eyes had a twisted gleam in them as he stared at his captor. "So what do you think of me now?" he sneered. You still wanna save me? You still wanna bring me down to very dust and then build me back up?"

The silence that followed was so thick, you could slice it. Bray stood up and paced for a while, and Dean fiddled with the chains that bound him.

Finally, Bray spoke. "Thirty dollars a throw."

Dean turned and stared at Bray like he'd just sprouted an extra head. _"What the fuck are you talking about?"_

"You asked me if Daddy put me on the street for money. Thirty dollars a throw. That's how much he charged.

"When I was working on his boat, my daddy did things to me that a daddy should never, _ever_ do to his son, and then when he finished, he... he called it _Keeping the boys company._ I won't go into too many details, but long story short, my daddy passed me around to his friends for thirty dollars a throw. Not just on the boat, but on shore as well. For three years, for lack of a better word… I was a whore. I felt disgusting. I felt cheap. I felt dirty. I felt like all I was good for was sex. Sex and money and unpaid labor.

"It stopped only after I stabbed my daddy on his boat when he tried to rape me. I was never charged with killing him. His DNA was all over me, and inside of me too. Justifiable homicide, the DA said. And in spite of what everyone's heard, the fire that night was coincidental. The investigators determined it was an electrical short circuit. I think it was God striking my daddy down for how he treated me.

"I'm not much different from you, Dean. But I'm different from the rest somehow. Blind to the wind, the news and the culture. And in that aspect, so are you. But do you see me slicing myself all to hell?

"I have a confession of my own. There were times after Daddy's death when I felt so filthy and slimy that I wanted to tear off my skin and die. I didn't, because I had family who loved me and did what it took to save me.

"My Uncle Waylon was a second father to me, and my Aunt Del was the mother I never had. Aunt Del taught me to read. She got me caught up in school enough for me to get a GED when I was just fifteen years old. Uncle Waylon put me to work on this farm during the summer. Helped me take out my aggression. And they both taught me about the Lord.

"Both my aunt and uncle taught me something that's been the most important lesson in life. They both told me I was special, because God don't make no junk." Bray fixed his captive with a fiery stare. "God never, _ever_ makes junk," he said softly, carding his fingers through Dean's hair. _"You aren't junk, Dean._ God created you for a reason. And if I have to break you into little pieces to make you understand that... then I will."

And with those words, Bray climbed to his feet and quietly left the garage, leaving Dean chained to the floor in the dark with his racing thoughts.

 **NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: *FACEPALMS* This was SUPPOSED to be a one-shot! However, it got away from me, and now it's a multi-chapter. It reads better this way anyway. I'd say about two more chapters before this one's finished.**

 **As you can see, Bray returned to his brutal ways. If you've read the first book of my** _ **Angel In The Dirt**_ **series, you'll know that Bray was quite brutal in his methods to fix someone. He mellowed out in Book Two and Book Three, but now he's switched back. The reason will be explained later.**

 **I needed to find a way to make Bray the way he is while keeping him sympathetic. The backstory (in my head) is that his mother died giving birth to him, and his dad blamed him for her death. He pulled Bray out of school at the age of eight so that he'd work on the boat, and then passed him around to his buddies for extra money. Bray killed his dad in self-defense, and then the boat caught fire. Two separate events that happened at the same time.**

 **Okay, enough rambling! Onward and upward to the next chapter!:)**

 **YOU KNOW THE DRILL! REVIEWS = LOVE**


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Thanks for all the follows and faves! Really appreciate it, especially today. I'm home from work today, and I'm really sick with a bad cold. I have no voice whatsoever. If you lovely faves/followers could leave me a review or two or six, it would make me feel even better.**

 **DISCLAIMERS: Please see the previous chapter. Thanks again to HarlemMarxx for allowing me to use her concepts and ideas. _Dismantle, Repair_ is the story upon which this was based. And, there's some spoilerish content in this chapter that ties into my next series, **_**An Army Of Angels.**_

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Bray really wanted Dean to draw closer to the Lord. Dean, like Jay, drew people to him like a magnet. He didn't see Dean proselytizing like Jay did in the ring during his run as U.S. Heavyweight Champion, but he saw Dean as someone who could pull downtrodden people off the streets and bring them to the Lord that way.

But before Dean could bring the downtrodden to the Lord, he had to bring Dean down to the dust first. He wanted to force Dean to descend below everything so that he could fix the broken man and help him rise above. After all, when you hit bottom, anything's better than what you got.

Bray's methods, brutal as they were, worked. But not in the way Bray had intended:

~~~ANGEL~~~

"Can you feel that? Can you feel that feeling culminating beneath your spine? Can you feel me?" Bray asked, as he paced back and forth.

Wearily, Dean glanced up at his captor, his chains jangling and scraping across the concrete floor. The fight had left him physically long ago, and now his mind was weakening.

"I'm awake now! And look! I got my wings and a halo waiting at the end!" Bray proclaimed before he tipped his head back and laughed like a lunatic. He then launched into a spiel of Latin, quite an impressive feat for a man who, from all appearances, looked like an uneducated, backwards redneck.

Bray switched gears then, and he continued on in English. "Wake up! Wake up! It's time you wake up and start looking at this lie you living in, Dean!" he demanded. "Maybe you don't think I know what I'm talking about, but I didn't need to be raised in a big city to know of its evils. Big city, small town, it really doesn't matter. Evil's everywhere.

"And that evil's permeated you. Broken you down with its lies. The Devil's got a stranglehold on your soul, Dean. It's made you live a half-life. You've spent so much time and energy surviving that you haven't had a chance to really live.

"I want you to come with me. I want you to stop surviving and start living. I want you take my hand. I want you to give your life to the Lord! Let me be your guide! And together, with my family, we will climb this rotten mountain, and we will stand atop the walls of Valhalla and we will peer down at them fools!

"We will peer down at those fools and watch them as evil overcomes them. They'll turn to ash and we will simply fly away!"

"Are you ready? Are you ready for me to change this world? Are you ready to help me?"

With another sermon finished, Bray drew closer to his captive. Concern started to grow inside him as he knelt in front of him. Dean had a thousand-yard stare on his face. His lips were cut, his nostrils were crusted with dried blood (the result of a nosebleed suffered when Bray punched him for mouthing off during a sermon) and bruises decorated his unshaven jaw. The skin beneath the cuffs on his wrists was scraped and raw. His eyes were glazed, and his hair was wound into greasy curls, matted with sweat. His chest hitched; he was trying to hold something in.

"Dean?" Bray ventured. "Are you alright?"

Bray's worst fears were realized when Dean's body jerked, and then toppled sideways, shaking with a sudden coughing fit.

"Dean… Dean?" Bray felt his captive's forehead, and his heart sank. "Oh my God, Dean. You're burning up!" He brushed a lank strand of hair from Dean's forehead. "How long have you been like this?"

"I… I don't know," Dean rasped, before another coughing fit gripped his body. That was true. Dean honestly _didn't_ know how long he'd been sick. The days, hours and minutes had bled together, leaving Dean with no sense of time.

"You've been holding that in all this time, Dean?" Bray's voice was soft, gentle. "Trying not to cough?"

Dean nodded. Another coughing spell. "Seriously, Bray?" he managed to rasp out. "Did you really have to beat the fuck out of me to save me?"

The blunt question took Bray completely off guard. He knew the answer to the question, but he didn't want to admit it.

"Why'd you have to hurt me?" Dean continued, his voice a croak.

 _Why'd you have to hurt me?_ The words rang in Bray's head like a chorus of bells. A million excuses cascaded through Bray's mind, but he could only focus on the one answer that _wasn't_ an excuse. "Because I'm a foolish, lazy man who went to the same well one time too many."

Bray was forced to switch gears then. He'd hoped that his transition from fire and brimstone beast to compassionate caretaker and companion would be more gradual, but circumstances wouldn't allow it. Quickly, Bray undid the cuffs and chains that bound Dean to the floor and then carefully scooped the sickly man up into his arms. He cautioned Dean to keep his eyes closed until he reached the house, not wanting to risk a repeat of what had happened to Jay eighteen months earlier.

Dean looked like hell warmed over. He was pale, dirty, unkempt and, when Bray carried him back to the house, drifting in and out of consciousness. His body blazed with fever, and the deep, wet cough that he'd struggled to hide had finally taken up residence in his chest.

As he drew a hot bath and removed Dean's filthy clothing, Bray suddenly understood Luke's anger from those many months ago.

Dean glanced up, his expression weary. "How long was I out there?" he asked.

Bray decided not to beat around the bush. "You've been out in the garage for about ten days."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, and his head lolled back. He licked his cut lips and then opened his eyes once more to lock his fevered gaze upon his captor/caretaker. "I must've been really fucked up, then." He paused. "So... you gonna make me better, Bray? I'm already down in the dust. Don't think I can go any lower. You gonna build me back up?"

Bray's voice was soft with guilt. "Yeah," he promised, lifting Dean and placing him into the tub of hot, soapy water. "I'll make you better."

Luke's words suddenly rang in his ears. _How could you, as a man of God, do what you did?_ That was something Bray would have to examine within himself. He'd promised Jay months ago that he'd change his approach, but he kept going back to the brutal, violent part of himself that justified everything he did.

Dean drifted off while in the bathtub. He was aware of big, capable hands running a soapy washcloth along his limbs and across his back. Large, limber fingers scrubbed his hair. A razor was dragged gently across his face to remove the stubble. And he heard a steady stream of soft rumbly talk; stories, songs, good-natured complaints about having to use up all the castile soap, but it was okay, since Dean would be the cleanest man in the parish and feel a thousand times better once Bray was finished with him.

Dean roused himself while Bray was drying him off. Too tired to move, he rested his head against the big man's chest as he was carried out of the bathroom.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Bray apologized, after he lay Dean on his bed and dressed him in some clean clothes. "This was the last thing I wanted to see happen to you. You getting sick, I mean."

"I should... I shoulda listened to you sooner," Dean mumbled. "Behaved myself. Or you wouldn't have had to chain me up."

"I shouldn't have chained you up to begin with."

"I damn near took Anna's head off when I threw the plate at her, Bray. She's Abigail's sister, right? A woman of high position here. No wonder you locked me up like a beast. I didn't give you much of a choice. Will you tell her I'm sorry?"

Bray covered Dean with a light blanket. "I will. But right now, you need to rest."

"Thanks," Dean whispered as he shut his eyes and drifted off into a deep, restorative sleep.

~~~ANGEL~~~

Dean slept in Bray's room, on the bed. Like Luke had done eighteen months earlier with Jay, Bray slept on a cot across from his recovering captive.

Bray spent the better part of two days administering herbal medicines, sponging Dean's forehead and body with cool water, propping Dean up so that Dean could cough up the junk from his lungs, and fighting off his own exhaustion and anxiety until the fever finally broke. A profound sense of relief fell over Bray when Dean turned the corner and began to recover. It had been a bad chest cold and a fever. Much less serious than it appeared, but it was enough to teach Bray a valuable lesson.

Dean, during his recovery, learned a few lessons as well. He learned that kindness smelled like the eucalyptus oil that was applied to a steaming hot washrag and placed on his chest so that he could inhale the vapors and breathe more easily. Compassion tasted like the tea made of hot water, ginger, cinnamon, and cloves that he sipped on to settle his irritated airways. Charity sounded like the soft rumble of Bray's voice as he read aloud to Dean from the Scriptures, a Louis L'Amour western, or a dime-store mystery novel. It also felt like the hand-me-downs from Jimmy Pollard that were supposed to go to Goodwill but instead stayed in a trash bag in the back of Anna's truck, until Anna remembered that Dean and Jimmy were about the same size.

And forgiveness tasted like a bowl of rice.

Two days had passed since Dean's fever broke, and it was the first time he could eat anything substantial. Anna had set a tray on his bed, upon which sat a bowl full of jasmine rice, coconut milk, fresh mint, and sliced chilies. Next to it stood a tall glass of mineral water with lime slices.

He would soon learn that Anna was quite proficient in the kitchen, probably because of her previous experience as a short-order cook. Last night's roast would become shepherd's pie the next day, and leftover veggies would become a hash when mixed with cut-up potatoes. Corned beef on Saturday would be lunch on Sunday, and sandwiches on Monday and Tuesday.

Dean didn't feel hungry, and he sensed that to not eat wouldn't be just a waste of food, but a personal affront to Abigail's successor. The rice was creamy and sweet, minty, and spicy. The mineral water was fizzy and it stung Dean's nostrils. But he ate and drank everything set in front of him. And he could sense Anna's appreciation as he devoured the meal.

~~~ANGEL~~~

During Dean's recovery, Bray continued his sermons, though they were much less fire and brimstone, and more kindness and compassion:

"Dean, what happened in your life growing up wasn't your fault," he explained, while Dean sat comfortably on an overstuffed gray couch in the living room and sipped on a mug of cinnamon-ginger-clove tea. "You got a raw deal. Your dad was a coward who didn't want to man up and take responsibility, and he chose to abandon you. Your mom was an addict who chose her addiction over you. Then when the money and drugs weren't enough, she chose to put you on the street to sell your body so that she could feed her own habit. To Seth, you were only a means to an end. And when Roman entered the picture, you were unfairly treated like a third wheel. You didn't make them do anything. They all made the choices, and you were the one who paid for their selfishness."

"It's not fair," Dean sighed, his eyes downcast. "Every good thing in my life eventually goes away."

Bray drew closer. "Dean, the Lord is fair... LIFE isn't fair. And the Lord's not going anywhere. He's never gonna leave you."

~~~ANGEL~~~

A week had passed since Bray brought Dean back to the house. His cough had cleared up, color was back in his face, and he was putting on much needed weight. They were upstairs, sitting on the porch that provided a panoramic view of the countryside. Indian summer was in full swing, and the landscape was a mix of greens and golds, oranges and reds. They had just finished the lunch of vegetable stew and rice, baked apples, and blueberry gingerbread that Anna had prepared.

Dean pushed his empty bowl aside and noticed what Bray was wearing. "Is that a… flannel shirt?"

Bray couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye. "You think those crazy shirts are all I ever wear?"

"I wouldn't have been surprised if they were."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"How much more can you tell me?" snorted Dean. "I don't think there's been an aspect of your life that hasn't been laid out before me in bite sized pieces."

"Plenty, if you're willing to stay a while and listen."

"I'm willing to do both."

Dean was mystified by the words he'd just uttered. Weeks ago, he would have tried everything possible to escape this place. Now, he wanted to stay. He wasn't sure if it was out of gratitude, love, Stockholm Syndrome, or a combination of things. He decided not to dwell on it.

~~~ANGEL~~~

Later that afternoon, Dean learned that the best apologies came in the form of a vape kit.

"You got this for me?" Dean gazed at the soft case that held a vape pen, chargers, and other necessary paraphernalia.

"Well, smoking's a gross, disgusting habit," Bray said simply. "I thought that since you can't smoke cigarettes here, you could have the next best thing. I guess it's my way of saying _I'm sorry_ for all the hell I put you through."

"You've done plenty to make up for it. You didn't need to get me this."

"But I wanted to."

Dean stared at the kit for a long time before he let a grateful little smile appear on his face. This was the first time in a long time that someone had given him a gift, not because they felt obligated to, or were expecting something in return, but because they _wanted_ to. He was genuinely touched. "Well… thanks."

Dean took to the vape pen the way a duck took to water. Before long, he was more comfortable with it than a pack of cigarettes. He used it while watching TV, listening to one of Bray's devotionals, or just sitting on the front porch watching the scenery.

~~~ANGEL~~~

Convalescing from his illness gave Dean a chance to reflect. The dark days in the garage, violent as they were, could have hurt more than they did. Because despite the violence Bray and Erick had subjected him to, Dean had a sense that they loved him. It was a feeling he knew very well.

For as long as Dean could remember, he wanted to believe that in spite of the abuse and drugs and violence he grew up with, his mom still loved him. He trusted her. He believed with every fiber of his being that she wouldn't let him get hurt. And it would be worth it in the end, because she'd see the error in her ways and fix things. She'd get clean and sober, get a real job, and earn enough money to move herself and her son out of the rathole that was their neighborhood. It would be all right, and they'd both live happily ever after.

The only problem was, it wouldn't be all right, and it would never be all right. Dean's mom chose the drugs, the abuse, and the violence over him. The fact that she put him on the street for money when he was thirteen years old hammered home that point cruelly. A hard lesson was learned the day Dean was sent out to his mom's street corner. Dean's mom loved her addiction more than she loved her own son. There was no happily ever after to be had if Dean stayed with his mom. So, when he was of age, he packed what little he had and escaped… and he never looked back.

Perhaps that violence in his past was the reason Dean could relate to Bray so well.

The words from Bray's last sermon in the garage replayed themselves in Dean's head _. I didn't need to be raised in a big city to know of its evils. Big city, small town, it really doesn't matter. Evil's everywhere. And that evil's permeated you. Broken you down with its lies. The Devil's got a stranglehold on your soul, Dean. It's made you live a half-life. You've spent so much time and energy surviving that you haven't had a chance to really live._

Bray had chipped away Dean's defenses until the words he uttered finally made sense. Dean had grown up surrounded by so much evil, that all he did was survive and not live. He never asked to be born there, and he never asked to live, as Bray called it, a half-life. And all Bray wanted was to remove Dean from that half-life and lead him to something much more fulfilling.

Dean had been brought here against his will, but he'd been spiraling out of control, and Bray, in his unorthodox manner, had stopped him. The chains he'd been bound with were only because he'd tried to harm an innocent woman. If he hadn't been a disrespectful, mouthy little brat, Bray wouldn't have had to beat him. And if Bray had been a sadistic monster, he wouldn't have taken Dean back to the house and nursed him back to health when he was ill.

It wasn't kidnapping... it was tough love. Bray had done all of this because he loved Dean.

Even at his lowest and darkest and most screwed-up, Bray still loved Dean. He'd loved Dean enough to break him down and expose those parts that needed to be fixed, and then fix those broken parts. He would have been petty-souled if he didn't put forth the effort.

It was hard for Dean to comprehend that kind of love, since he hadn't been exposed to it in his formative years. It was scary. Not a bad scary, like the one Dean had experienced while running the gauntlet to his apartment while he was a kid. It was the good scary you'd feel when strapping into a roller coaster you've waited years to ride.

It was a giddy adrenaline rush that Dean liked. And one he hoped to experience more of.

 **NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I kinda felt the end of this chapter was weak, but I've got very high standards for the work I publish. I really need to stop being so self-critical LOL!**

 **I know I promised the last chapter of** _ **Follow Me**_ **this week, but this story has me by the shorthairs, LOL. Not that I mind. I like writing this one. The more Wybrose, the better:)**

 **And speaking of Wybrose, I've got a Christmas story in the pipeline. A funny one, BTW. It features Dean going out to fall down a Christmas tree. If you don't get the reference, it's from a Peanuts cartoon, where Sally looks for a Christmas tree, and if one falls down, she'll take it!**

 **Bray's gonna explain why he went back to his old ways in the next chapter. It has quite a bit to do with the Daniel Bryan debacle.**

 **And... I'm gonna start on the last chapter of** _ **Follow Me**_ **after I post this chapter. Be patient!:)**

 **REVIEWS = LOVE**


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Thanks so much for the reviews and faves! Really makes me smile when I read them. Happy to report that my cold is finally clearing up, but I've now got congestion in my ears, and I can't work as quickly as I can on** _ **Follow Me.**_ **I watch the matches on my iPod to get dialogue, color commentary, etc., and my hearing is rather distorted at the moment. Makes it difficult for me to listen and take notes. I know it sounds like a weird excuse, but it's the truth!**

 **CAUTION: I'm a slasher at heart, so this chapter contains some slashiness between Bray and Dean, but nothing explicit or graphic (that's not something I'm particularly good at). It's the muses talking, and sometimes I have no control over what they say or do. Better to just fasten the seatbelts and let them navigate while I steer.**

 **DISCLAIMERS: Please see the previous chapters.**

 _ **Chapter Three**_

Neither Bray nor Dean could remember the exact moment when they crossed over from infirm and caretaker to companions, and then lovers, but their attraction grew stronger and stronger as time passed, and before they could realize it, they couldn't get enough of each other.

It was gradual. Bray removed the cot from his bedroom and slept in his own bed for the first time in days. He didn't have the heart to kick Dean out of the bed, so he shared it. Dean didn't complain—in fact, he liked being close to the big man—so Bray took his lack of complaint as implied consent.

Then there were the embraces, the touches that lingered too long to be friendly or fatherly, the ones that sent shivers down Dean's spine and sparks flying through Bray's soul. The kisses that were more than just gentle pecks on the cheek or affectionate kisses on the top of one's head. Then there were the times when they just lay in bed at night and talked, with a clock radio on the nightstand softly playing classic rock songs as background noise.

After spending so much time in close proximity to Bray, Dean decided that he liked his voice. Bray could read the back of a cereal box, and it would leave Dean wanting to hear more. The fact that Bray was quite the gifted storyteller bode well for the Wyatt's patriarch as well. He spun a few yarns about growing up on the farm, a few tales about his life on the road as a long-haul trucker, other stories about Daniel Bryan and his betrayal, and many stories about Abigail.

Dean knew all about Abigail now. She wasn't some mythical religious leader or immortal spirit. She'd been a troubled teen who'd run away from a shelter for at-risk youth and found a family and husband here. Her death had shattered Bray to the point where he'd been nearly non-functional. If Luke and Erick hadn't intervened to pull him out of his depression, Bray would have withered and faded away.

And Dean wouldn't have been fixed physically and emotionally because Bray wouldn't have been around to fix him.

They made plans, he and Bray. Dean wanted to move to the compound. It would make things easier for everyone. After all, he already felt like the compound was his home (that proclamation made Bray's heart skip a beat), so why not make it official? Of course, he had to return to Las Vegas to settle his affairs there, but it wouldn't take long. Dean's lease on his place was month to month, and he had very little in the way of possessions (they only made you a target, he often said), except for his mountain bike, his clothes, and whatever he could fit into a suitcase.

Bray and Dean worked their way closer to each other, and before long, they became intimate.

Dean feared what he was getting himself into, being with Bray like this. What would sex with him be like? Violent? Painful? Would Bray inflict physical damage on him? Create more scars? He hadn't given the existing scars on his body a second thought, until he'd been brought here. Now, he felt unusually self-conscious. Perhaps it was because he was revealing them in a more intimate setting.

Bray could sense Dean's trepidation. "You don't wanna do this?"

"I do, it's just that… I'm surprised that _you_ wanna do this, especially with me."

"What's the hesitation?"

"I thought you were attracted to women."

"Sexuality's fluid. I appreciate both genders," was Bray's simple, honest response. "But that's not all you're concerned about, is it?" Gently, Bray ran his fingers across the marks on Dean's back. Souvenirs from all the barbed wire and light tube matches from CZW. "Your scars. You're self-conscious."

Uncharacteristically, Dean blushed and glanced down at the bedsheets. Bray could read Dean better than Dean could read himself. "Why would you want someone as scarred and fucked up as me?"

Bray could have answered Dean's question with something poetic or matter-of-fact or sappy, but he didn't. He suspected that words would simply fly over Dean's head in this instance. So instead, he ran his big fingers across the scars, and then lowered his head so that he could kiss each one.

A fire began to kindle deep in Dean's belly. His heart began to race. Kisses. Touches. That was the answer Dean understood. Bray thought Dean's scars were to be kissed, touched, and revered. And if his scars merited that type of attention, perhaps the rest of him did as well...

~~~ANGEL~~~

They spent the next three hours becoming intimately acquainted with each other, with music from the classic rock station out of Lafayette providing suitable musical accompaniment. Bray had moved off his new lover three times that night: one, to get a damp washrag; two, to get some water from the icebox; and three, most thoughtfully, to get Dean's vape pen.

Later, Dean was sitting naked on Bray's bed, taking a few puffs off his vape pen, while Bray lay stretched out like a giant cat across from him. His pen was filled with Wild Berry flavored e-juice. It was becoming his favorite, and unknown to him, Bray's favorite. The fragrant vapors mingled with the scent of his and Bray's combined passion in the sultry air. "Whodathunk that I'd actually like the fruit flavors."

"Well, I'd rather have you puff on that instead of a cancer stick. You aren't putting tar and smoke into your lungs, that's for sure." Bray paused. "I like it when I kiss you and you taste like sponge cake and berries."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "I taste like sponge cake?"

"Yeah." The expression on Bray's face grew nostalgic. "Reminds me of a dessert Aunt Del made me during the summer. It was a sponge cake with fresh berries and whipped cream. When she didn't have fresh berries on hand, she'd cook some berry jam into a syrup and pour that over the cake. Good times."

Dean set his pen back on the nightstand. "It's kinda cool that you compare me to your favorite dessert."

"And... it's sexy to watch you sit here naked as you suck on a pipe."

"It's not a pipe, it's a pen..." Dean's voice trailed off when he suddenly recognized the double entendre. To hear Bray utter such an innuendo was oddly attractive, and it made Dean bust up laughing. "Oh, you're bad!"

A mischievous grin crossed Bray's lips. "Do you really think I'm amen and hallelujah all the time?" He reached up and tugged gently on Dean's forearm. "So… you up for Round Two?"

"You know it," Dean smirked, as he lay down on the bed across from his new lover.

~~~ANGEL~~~

The days passed, and Dean regained his strength and stamina. He found that tree branches made for a good chin-up bar, the front porch worked as a place to do push-ups, and that the perimeter of the Wyatt's property was about four miles.

Dean didn't see Erick much-they were like ships passing in the night after he returned to the house-but they were always pleasant with each other. After all, Dean was now part of the family. And they'd get to know each other soon enough.

He didn't expect Erick to speak to him at breakfast one morning. Anna wasn't in the kitchen, like she usually was. On this particular day, she was at the rice mill where she worked, putting in some extra hours. Bray was sleeping in, so it was just Dean and Erick alone at the kitchen table.

"Bray loves you."

Erick's simple observation snapped Dean to full attention and tore him away from his simple breakfast of fried eggs, toast, orange juice, and coffee. Dean had prepared this himself; he was a decent cook, so long as it was nothing elaborate. His response was as un-elaborate as his breakfast. "I know he does."

"Do you love him?"

"I do." Dean's answer was immediate.

"He's had his heart broken once already. You know about Abigail, right?"

"Yeah. She's buried here, under the strawberries." Dean knew the story now, and he knew to keep the story within the confines of the Wyatt's property.

"Bray broke after she died. It took a long time to get him back. He gets his heart broken again, then he'll never come back. So don't break his heart a second time," Erick warned Dean gently before tucking into his food.

Dean's answer was sincere. "I won't."

~~~ANGEL~~~

That afternoon, Dean would get to meet the rest of the family.

The Pollards returned from their evangelical trip. There was Roselle, the blonde mother hen; her twin girls Violet and Bina; Jimmy, the blonde gentle giant; and his pugilistic younger brother Frankie. They were all full of stories and laughter. Roselle fussed over Dean the way a mother should fuss over a son. It was a new feeling, being loved on and welcomed by a mother figure, but he accepted it as part of his new life.

Jimmy and Frankie liked Dean's vape pen, and Jimmy proudly showed off his own. He gave Dean the name of a store in Lafayette that he bought e-juice from. He even razzed Dean (good-naturedly, of course) about his "new" clothes and asked where he'd seen them before.

Violet tried to flirt with Dean, until he told her, very gently, that he didn't swing that way. The pretty blonde Pollard took the rejection in stride. After all, one didn't fall in love with what was between one's legs, but what was in one's heart and head.

Besides, Bina pointed out, Dean was Bray's angel.

The next day, Anna drove to the airport in Lafayette to pick up Jay and Luke, who were taking a few days off before heading back onto the road. They were greeted warmly, and they were genuinely happy to be home, if only for a few days.

Jay was the second oldest of the Wyatt clan, next to Roselle, but he deferred to the Wyatt patriarch on many things. Bray treated him like a beloved son, and Dean could see the affection that flowed between the two. He saw a similar affection between Jay and Luke, but judging by the looks and touches and kisses they gave each other, it was the affection between lovers, and not parents or siblings. It was the same kind of affection that now existed between Bray and himself.

Dean also saw the slightly haunted look in the blonde Wyatt's eyes and instantly knew that he'd experienced the same ordeal in the garage as he had.

The entire Wyatt clan-eleven in total, including Dean-settled into the dining room in the main house for supper that night. Anna and Roselle made pot roast with baked potato, pumpkin, carrots, zucchini, purple cabbage, yellow squash, and gravy. There was a cherry-mint pie for dessert, and plenty of conversation afterwards.

After dinner was the perfect opportunity for Dean to chase down Jay and talk to him in private. He had to know what the older man went through that bound him to this ragtag family.

But it was Jay who asked the questions first, while Dean got comfortable with his vape pen on the porch.

~~~ANGEL~~~

"Where'd you get the vape pen?"

"Bray got it for me, if you can believe it." Dean brought the pen to his lips, inhaled, and pressed a tiny button on the side to dispense the vapor. He held the cloud in for a moment, and then parted his lips to let the vapor escape in a steady, fragrant stream. "Bray doesn't like me smoking actual cigarettes, so I'm using the pen. I never thought that I'd actually like the fruit flavor e-juice."

Jay paused. "Bray locked you in the garage, didn't he?"

Dean took another pull off the vape pen. "How can you tell?"

"You have the same look in your eyes as I do."

Dean found himself defending the Wyatt's paterfamilias. "I went after Anna. Threw an empty plate at her my first night here. She'd have been hurt if Erick didn't intervene. You know how Bray feels about her. She's Abigail's sister, for crying out loud. I think he was trying to protect her. And I'm dangerous when I feel like I'm backed into a corner."

"Still, he could have found another way."

Dean took another pull and leaned against the porch railing, while Jay got himself comfortable in a wicker chair. "I think I left Bray with no other option. Don't be angry with him."

"I'm not so much angry with him as I am disappointed. I thought he wasn't gonna use that place again. Just seems like a shortcut," Jay sighed. When Dean said nothing, he asked, "So… what's your story?"

Dean cocked his head, puzzled. "Story?"

"What did he do to you in there?"

"He chained me up, made me listen to his sermons. He and Erick hit me if I mouthed off. I caught a chest cold, and that's what made Bray stop. He brought me to the house, cleaned me up, nursed me back to health, and here I am."

"Did Bray make you crawl to him on your hands and knees while chains dangled from your ankles and wrists? Did Erick wrap chains around your neck and nearly strangle you? Did you have a bucket you had to use for a latrine?"

Dean nodded, in stunned silence. Jay continued. "I can tell you a lot of horror stories about that godawful place. Many of them could send Bray to prison. But that's the last thing I want. Because this is my home. This is my family. And judging from how close you're listening, not to mention how close you and Bray seem to be, this is your family now as well."

Dean found himself agreeing with the older blonde. "Being here, it's… changed me for the better. My dad abandoned me before I was even born, my mom was a junkie whore, I lived on the streets, even peddled my ass on a street corner for money… none of that will change, but I can't let that all be an excuse. Seth, Roman, all of them… they used me, yeah. But I can't keep blaming myself for what _they_ did. If Bray hadn't fixed me, I'd be dragging myself to Hell and taking others along with me. Doesn't matter if I'm related or not, this is my family."

"Sometimes, blood ties do not a family make. Regardless of what anyone else wants to say, yeah?" Jay agreed. "Bray did whatever it took to fix me. And you as well."

Dean took another hit off of his pen. "Are you happy?"

Without hesitation, Jay said, "I am. You probably heard the story by now. If not on RAW or on Smackdown, then backstage, second or third hand from someone. I was gonna jump to my death from my hotel room window, and the boys stopped me. Bray saw something in me that he wanted to save. He broke me, and he helped fix me. If he hadn't, _I'd_ be dragging myself to Hell, if I wasn't there already. Now, I'm teaching Bible study and helping train the new kids at the Performance Center part time. Luke and I are closer than ever, and we've even been talking marriage. It sounds kinda corny, but I have Bray to thank for that."

Jay let his piercing blue gaze fall on the newest Wyatt. "Y'know, if Bray's willing to take you to the absolute limit of what you can endure, and then shove you past it in order to fix you, wouldn't _you_ give him your loyalty?"

Dean found himself nodding. He and Jay were brothers in suffering. Each of them with their own damage, with Bray as the common denominator, and restoration as the result. "Maybe we should pay that garage a visit. Face down a few ghosts. Afterwards, maybe we can convince Bray to tear it down."

~~~ANGEL~~~

They visited the garage in the morning while everyone else was asleep, the weathered, rickety-looking building that had been an original part of the property. So much of the paint had peeled off that what was left was bare wood, grayed and decaying. The white metal door was weathered and beaten as well. The farming implements housed inside were in decent repair, and each told a silent and ominous tale. The atmosphere smelled of blood and sweat and tears and other things that Dean and Jay didn't care to identify.

"You can smell the fear and despair in here," Jay said. His voice sounded calm as he pointed things out, but Dean could sense his anxiety. "That's the hoist. Bray hung me from it and gave me thirty lashes for my disrespect and selfishness. I called him a fucking psycho one time too many."

Dean couldn't stop the chill that raced down his back as Jay continued his narrative.

"I begged him not to whip me, told him I'd be good, but he knew that I'd only pretend for a while, and then I'd run off and kill myself. Bray broke down every defense and excuse I had while I was chained up in this building. At my darkest and my lowest, I realized that I didn't wanna die. I wanted someone to save me."

"So did I," admitted Dean. "I hid it a lot better than most. Under the crazy persona. Bray called me a sheep provoking the wolves. I had a head full of rage, and no outlet." He paused, and then smirked. "Of course, I won't provoke the wolves as much, but I'll still keep the crazy."

Jay chuckled. "I don't think anyone could imagine you _without_ your crazy." He paused, and then pointed to the floor. "There's the eyebolt. That's where the chains were connected. We should take that bolt out and keep it somewhere as a reminder of how far we've come."

Dean found himself nodding. "Yeah. I think we should..."

~~~ANGEL~~~

Bray was awake and sipping a mug of coffee when Jay and Dean returned to the house. "You went to the garage, didn't you?" His voice wasn't accusing or threatening, just curious.

Dean was the first to answer. "How can you tell?"

"Well, the only time you or Jay would be up this early would be either to work out, or to visit the garage, when nobody else would see you. And neither of you look like you've gone to work out."

"We want that garage torn down." Jay's voice was quiet and to-the-point. "I thought you wouldn't use it again."

Bray glanced down at his coffee, like he was trying to find the secret of life in the bottom of his mug. Then, he sighed and set the mug aside. "I wasn't. But I was weak. And you're absolutely right. I _should_ tear it down. No. I take that back, I _need_ to tear it down. It's too much of a temptation to break someone down in there. It's an excuse for me to not search myself and figure out why I feel the need to resort to violence to fix someone. I'd planned to tear it down when Daniel joined us for those two weeks, but after his betrayal, I… I just couldn't."

Jay pulled up a chair and sat next to the Wyatt's patriarch. Quietly, he reached across the table to take Bray's hand. It would have been understandable if Jay decided to castigate the Wyatt's paterfamilias for his weakness, but Jay sensed that the last thing Bray needed now was condemnation. "Maybe it's because you felt like you failed with him deep down," he suggested, quietly. "So you kept the garage up because you knew it worked, albeit brutally. It's your safety net."

He paused, thoughtfully. "Daniel's betrayal stung all of us. But we moved past it. And look what happened afterwards. We knocked Daniel out of commission, and deservedly so. We exposed Cena as the world's biggest fraud, while gaining the support of most of the roster. Cena's been out of the title picture for months, and rumor has it that Daniel's out at least till the end of the year. I had one more great run as US champ before I retired, and Erick and Luke were tag-team champs for most of the summer. And we did all of that without having to be violent outside the ring."

"You don't have to beat the fuck out of someone to save them," Dean added, as he poured himself a cup of coffee and added some evaporated milk out of the icebox. He joined Bray at the table, sitting next to Jay. "Maybe it's time to let that betrayal go."

Bray closed his eyes, and the three of them sat without speaking for a few moments, the steady _tick-tock_ of the Kit-Kat clock on the wall providing the only sound. Dean sipped at his coffee, and Jay ran his thumb across the back of Bray's hand in a comforting gesture.

When Bray opened his eyes again, there was a reflective look. A peaceful look. A resolute look.

"I see the Lord at work in both of you," he said. "I hear it in the words the two of you just spoke. I can tell that you've both drawn closer to Him. You've both learned so much. And you, Dean, you've come further than I'd expected you to. Last thing I expected was both you and Jay giving me the nudge to do what I need to."

He sat up in his chair and folded his arms across his massive chest. " We need to uhm…. move the farming implements to the barn. Frankie got that cleaned out for me before he and the others went on their trip, so there's plenty of space. Then I'll need to call some professionals and have the place torn down properly."

"You have a phone book around?" Dean asked. "We can make a few calls, make things a little easier for you."

Bray shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I need to do this myself. In fact, I should have done this months ago."

"Well, when you do that, there's a couple things we want," Jay ventured. "We want the eyebolt, so Dean and I can look at it and remember how far we've come. And two, when you tear the building down, save the wood. I'd like to make a bonfire out of it, if that's alright."

"I don't see any reason not to." A grin perked up Bray's face. A bonfire sounded nice, especially this time of year.

~~~ANGEL~~~

That was three days ago. The farming implements were now stowed in their new home in the barn. The eyebolt was in a shoebox in Bray's (now Bray and Dean's) bedroom. Dean or Jay could take it out and look at it and remember everything it stood for. Pain. Suffering. Fear. Hopelessness. Despair. Truth. Hope. Rebirth. Healing. Growth. Family. Love.

Dean put away his vape pen and inhaled deeply through his nose. He could detect the sweet remnants of last night's bonfire on the breeze. He, Bray and the rest of his new family had roasted hot dogs and marshmallows and made s'mores over the flames and told stories until the fire died down.

True to his word, Bray used the wood from the garage as fuel for the bonfire. The garage had been useful one last time.

Dean got up from his spot on the porch and opened the front door. "Hey!" he shouted. "You waiting for Christmas to hit you? Let's go!"

~~~ANGEL~~~

Soon, luggage was set in the back of Anna's truck. Jay and Luke sat up front, while Bray and Dean sat in the backseat. Anna was driving the boys to the airport, promising them that they'd get to their destination three hours before their flight.

As the truck rumbled down the driveway and onto the main road into Crowley (and eventually, Lafayette), Dean glanced over his shoulder at the Wyatt compound one last time. He'd arrived here against his will, a lost, lone wolf with a broken family and a broken spirit, hidden by a head full of rage. He was leaving here healed, a happy lamb in a loving flock, with a family, and someone who loved him despite how scarred and fucked up he was.

If you stripped this story down to its bare bones, Dean Ambrose was reborn and healed in a cold, dark garage in the Louisiana backwoods because Seth Rollins had chosen to sleaze his way up the FCW/WWE ranks, and because Dean had paused for a moment to find a cigarette on the way to his car.

Dean grinned before settling back in his seat and laying his head on Bray's shoulder. He was glad he needed a cigarette that night.

 **NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: And we're DONE! *Does happy dance because the story's done, and because my hearing is starting to clear up thanks to antibiotics*. Hope you liked this interpretation of Wybrose. So many stories have Dean being tortured, or Bray being a sadistic monster. I hope I gave my Bray some humanity and compassion. Thanks again to HarlemMarx and her** _ **story Dismantle, Repair,**_ **which gave me the inspiration and motivation to write this. Thanks for letting me use your ideas and concepts. I really hope I did them justice!**

 **Anyway, this story was also a sort-of songfic based on the song** _ **Cigarette**_ **by Splender. I wrote this using the 5/4/3/2/1 Song Challenge (Thanks, Willow Edmond). It works like this:**

 **1\. Go to your history on Youtube and pick the 5th song you listened to (a SONG, not a video with the song in it. In my case, the 5th song was** _ **Spaceboy**_ **by Splender.**

 **2\. Click on the link and in the Recommendations, go up until you reach the 4th song that's recommended. If the recommendation is an entire album, then chose the 2nd song off the album. I was lucky and got a song from the same artist. The 4th song was** _ **Cigarette**_ **.**

 **3\. Use any 3 lines in the song. Here's the clincher. You can't write them out like "So-and-so turned on the radio and heard these lyrics," or, "The song playing reminded So-and-so of …" That's cheating. You** _ **have to incorporate**_ **the lyrics in such a way that it flows with the story, and that the reader won't realize that the lines came from a song. If you use more than three lines, more power to you!**

 **4\. If the recommendation is an entire album, you have to use the 2nd verse from the 2nd song.**

 **5\. The title of your story has to be the title of the song.**

 **Well, I kinda cheated on Rule #5.** _ **Angel With A Broken Wing**_ **was a better title for this story. But the working title was** _ **Cigarette**_ **. Hope you guys will let that slide. Anyway, the lyrics I used for this story were as follows:**

 **1\. I can't take all the pressure. Gotta find some way to cope with this,**

 **2\. But I'm different from the rest somehow.**

 **3\. Blind to the wind, the news and the culture.**

 **Well, since I've been on a Wyatt kick for the past several months, I knew I had to use Bray. And he and Dean have a twisted chemistry that works very well together. So, after talking to HarlemMarx and getting permission, banging out the outline, and incorporating the song lyrics, this was the result. I hope you all enjoyed it!**

 **AND REMEMBER… REVIEWS = LOVE!**


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